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Well, that was…blunt. And more than I’d asked for.

“So, this nice act,” I said, waving my hands around. “You’re just trying to get me to lower my guard and trust you so that you can…do whatever it is you all plan to do with me?”

“No.” He held up the plate again. “I’m just trying to get you to eat. You’re skin and bones, and from the way Kal described you, you weren’t that way a month ago. You need to get your strength back up.”

Frowning, I stood. As much as I hated to admit it, he was right. Even though I’d recovered from the poison, my muscles felt drained. My head felt a little fluffy, and I could feel every rib through the dress.

“Fine.” I strode toward the bars. “I’ll eat. And I’ll imagine stabbing him with every bite I take.”

He chuckled, opened the door, and passed me the food. “All right. Enjoy.”

After locking the door behind him, he started to walk away, but I had the urge to call out. “You aren’t going to punish me for saying that?”

He stiffened and glanced back. “You’re upset. It’s understandable. Besides, they’re just words. Why would I punish you?”

“For insulting your king. For not showing him respect.” My hands shook a little, rattling the plate, despite my attempt to hold myself as strong as steel. It had only been a month since King Oberon had his guard toss my sister’s head at my feet. Even now, it was in my thoughts every minute of every day. “For threatening his life.”

Toryn loosed a breath. “Is that how Oberon treated you?”

Tears sprang into my eyes as the memories roared back to life in my head. I hadn’t spoken a word out loud about my sister’s death since it had happened. Oberon had broken me, but as long as I didn’t talk about it, I could keep the fragments of my heart from shattering completely. My soul was in shards, but not splinters.

I hissed and turned away, clutching the plate. “Stop acting concerned. You and your Mist King are no better than he is.”

“Hmm.”

His footsteps echoed against the stone, fading into the distance. A moment later, a door creaked and then slammed shut. I sat hard on the bed, trying to still my racing heart, trying to block out all those horrible days and nights.

And they would likely pale in comparison to whatever happened to me here.

A fire within me lit, burning my memories away like ash. Toryn might have been messing with me, but he’d been right about one thing. I did need to eat. My strength could come back. And when it did, I would get out of this place, find Val and Mother, and then go where no fae kings could ever harm any of us again.

Thirteen

Tessa

“The king wishes to see you.” Toryn returned wearing a new set of fighting leathers—this time, they were a faded brown—which told me a day had passed. It was impossible for me to know other than that. He unlocked the cell and held out a gooey pastry before motioning me down the corridor.

I lifted the food to my mouth, eyeing him. “Can I eat this first?”

“I’m afraid he might change his mind if we don’t hurry,” he said, leading the way down the dimly lit dungeon. The damp walls smelled like mildew and rotting grass, and only a few torches helped light the way.

Around a mouthful of sweet pastry, I asked, “So, it was your idea for him to see me.”

“He doesn’t think you’ll listen to him now that you know who he is.”

The Mist King.The pastry suddenly felt dry. “I don’t want to go.”

“Yes, you do.” We reached a wooden door that he unlatched and pushed open. “It was never supposed to happen this way, Tessa.”

My eyes narrowed. “How was abducting someonesupposedto go?”

“He didn’t want to do that.” With a shake of his head, he fell silent, leading the way up a winding set of stone steps. Soon, we reached the top, and a cold, fresh breeze blasted into me. I shivered, caught off guard. I’d never felt anything quite like it.

As we strode through the arched hallways outside of the dungeon, I couldn’t help but gape. This castle was nothing like the one in Albyria. There wasn’t a hint of red, for one. Instead, chiseled stone statues lined the bare walls. Kings and queens of old, I assumed. Fire-lit chandeliers hung from low ceilings, splashing a soft glow onto the silver-accented carpet.

It was all gray, cold, and dreary. But I had to admit I preferred it to Oberon’s flashy orange and crimson.

When we entered the throne room, I expected to find dozens of courtiers buzzing about, but it was just the Mist King. At the end of a long stretch of carpet, he lounged on a throne made of…stars. It glittered like diamonds, driving away the darkness, matching the crown that he hadn’t been wearing earlier. Gone was the boring cloak, the mask, and his pretense that he was a simple rebel. His silver tunic and black trousers hugged his muscular frame, but it was the dark cloak that caught my attention. It draped around him, its edges embroidered with silver crescent moons.